


Rust and Blood

by Martiverse, Pfefferminze



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, Gen, Hawke is a warrior, bless, but is he???????, just????, our origin story for Garrett Hawke, that??????, translated in english for you all by the amazing Pfefferminze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martiverse/pseuds/Martiverse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pfefferminze/pseuds/Pfefferminze
Summary: Hawke had been practicing the art of the sword for quite a while, training against bales of hay and enemies built of tin buckets; he had fought dragons made of wood and imagination under the proud gaze of his mother. A talented warrior, it runs in his blood apparently. But blades are as sharp as destiny and it is easy to be cut. Blood dribbles out, and so does talent.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Rust and Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ruggine e sangue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22065754) by [Martiverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martiverse/pseuds/Martiverse). 



[ Now you can read my story in English **thanks to the amazing[Pfefferminze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pfefferminze), who translated it all from Italian**! <3 <3 You deserve the biggest THANK YOU ever!! ]

Pfefferminze non ti ringrazierò mai abbastanza ;W; Piangissimo, tieni questo cuore ❤\ இ_இ  


* * *

  
  
The first time Garrett had ever used his powers was entirely by chance.   
At the ripe age of fourteen, nobody thought he would show any magical abilities... had it been the case, there would have been signs a lot earlier.  
He had been practicing the art of the sword for quite a while, training against bales of hay and enemies built of tin buckets; he had fought dragons made of wood and imagination under the proud gaze of his mother. A talented warrior, it runs in his blood apparently. But blades are as sharp as destiny and it is easy to be cut. Blood dribbles out, and so does talent. 

Carver, ever the good little brother, only had eyes for him and followed Garrett everywhere he went. He imitated his gait and, at times, he smeared ash on his face in an attempt to have the same timid hint of beard that had begun showing on his brother’s face. Their father had carved them wooden swords to train, but Garrett took any chance to steal the longsword Malcolm kept hidden away in a heavy red drape.   
It was an old sword, belonging to a man who had once been a friend of his father, whose name had been lost as well as any memory of his past.   
No one dared to speak of it, everyone was quiet about its secret. Garrett had always been too impulsive, quick, and distracted to understand how to keep them.   
  
In that occasion, he grabbed the sword from the blade. Not a spectacular idea, in hindsight, but Carver had been following him the entire day demanding to use that longsword he couldn’t even lift. He had got hold of the hilt, proclaiming that the sword belongs to everyone and that it was unfair because he had no chance to win with the wooden one. He kept begging his mother to support him as she was hanging the laundry paying him little attention.   
Garrett tried to grip the edge to tear the sword off his fingers but, instead of moving, the blade had sunk into his flesh, ripping his palm from his thumb to his wrist.   
  
In just a second, the ground was filled with blood. 

Garrett opened his mouth to scream, letting out the air in a pained moan. He clutched his bleeding palm with his untouched hand and closed his eyes, feeling pain blooming in every nerve. 

Carver pulled the longsword towards himself with a triumphant smile across his face when he saw his brother fall to his knees… but as soon as he saw the blood, he threw the blade to the ground to hide his guilt.   
“Mother!” the boy screamed “Garrett hurt himself!”  
Garrett’s forearm trembled and was red all the way to his elbow. 

Leandra let go of the laundry basket. The clothes fell onto the farmyard, mixing with the dry and dusty Fereldan soil.  
“For the love of the Maker, Garrett!” worry was evident in her voice.   
She grabbed his hand, fingers frantically positioning the hand palm up to examine the wound. “Stay calm. I am going to call your father. He will fix it. You’ll see…”

Garrett could only hear her voice as if it came from behind a veil. Like when Bethany and Carver bathed in the river and screamed underwater, daring each other to understand what they were saying over the burbling noise of the creek.   
When he opened his eyes again, the blood stopped dripping towards the ground and shot up in the air, slithering back under the skin. Time seemed to wrap around itself and the wounded flesh merged back together. Faint, small red drops, like glistening pearls of a necklace he had not noticed breaking.   
His mother, at his side, held her breath, looking at him wide-eyed.

“Mama…” he softly whispered, looking up to her in stupor and wonder. A slap hit his cheek with such strength to break the words in his throat and burn his skin. 

Carver jumped in surprise hearing the smack. He said nothing, but he tightened his fist against his hips and looked away.   
Leandra kept her hand raised for a moment, then began sobbing and wrapped Garret in a bittersweet embrace.   
“I am sorry… everything will be alright. Your father will teach you, you will be safe...Garrett, you will be safe...do not worry”  
However, the only thing Garret could think about was the smell of blood.

* * *

His father had grown up at the circle in Kirkwall and seldom talked about it, for some secrets hurt even on the tip of your tongue.   
He had always known he was a mage, that he was different, and the Circle had taught him how to dominate his gift, as well as how it feels to live in fear. He tried to convince Garrett that it was a blessing, but his eyes showed that there was more behind it. 

Secrets started coming up in the form of warnings. Don’t use your power in front of anyone. Never reveal your gift. Never talk about magic. If you see a Templar, run as fast as you can.   
That was why it was always Leandra who went into town to buy food. That was why they moved every six months. There was never enough time to even grow a garden, so Malcolm always stayed at home carving wooden toys and knife hilts, but it was always his wife who was given the task of selling them. 

Garrett was impulsive but not stupid, so when Malcolm's secrets became his, everything became clearer.  
He understood they were hiding because his father was an apostate.   
The gift that Malcolm kept trying to sell him as a blessing was also the reason why Leandra cried in secret, holding old letters from Kirkwall. 

“Garrett, pay attention” “Garret, have you had any strange dreams?” “Garrett, show me how you did that”. Suddenly, his parents’ attention was all for him and him alone. Playing with swords was not to Bethany’s taste and Carver was left without a partner to train with.   
Still, Garrett barely used his powers. He listened to his father as he explained how to control them, but he was not interested in discovering his true potential. He ran away to the granary when the lessons became too specific or boring. 

Magic was like a weed to Garret, an uncultivated talent. It lived in his body like a mole or a spot, without growing nor letting itself be seen.   
There had never been voices in Garrett’s dreams and the demons from his father’s stories remained only that, nothing more than fables. His true power was inside him, somewhere, lying asleep in his veins. But it was invisible to the eye, so it became easy to forget it.   
He preferred the sword, concrete things, for magic still felt on his skin like the slap he had received from his mother.

* * *

Only a year later they discovered that Bethany possessed a similar magical propensity… but in her case it could truly be defined as a gift.  
Her talent was not raw like Garrett’s, It was a blade forged with no rust nor spots. Even though she was barely eight, she already surpassed her brother in ability.  
She received no slap. On the contrary, their father was ecstatic about her skills. Every day they left on trips together, hiding in the depths of the forest to sharpen spells’ forms and improve her hold on them, all things that had never sparked Garrett’s interest. 

Carver followed them sometimes without being noticed, and from afar tried to imitate their gestures with no success. His wooden sword was left on the side to observe his failure.   
He was the only one that had never been touched by magic, so he spent most of the time in the house with Garrett, complaining because their mother wasn’t there and their father only cared about Bethany. Garrett nodded at his lamentations, but he ignored them, leaving him alone in his rage and only humoring him with smart quips of terrible quality. 

Honestly? Bethany had been a blessing for him. Distracted by her skill, everybody had seemed to forget that feeble sparkle of magical power in his veins. He had never tried to follow his father and sister during their training sessions, not even once.  
His talent was mediocrity and that was fine by him; he would never be a proficient mage and he had no interest to become one.   
Between letting his sword or his talent rust, he had no doubt about which one to choose. 

* * *

Hawke was a warrior, everybody knew it around Kirkwall.   
He always carried a shiny longsword on his back, a heavy one, to wield with both hands. The blade was forged steel of the highest quality. It shone in the sun like a shard of glass, it could hardly pass unnoticed.   
Only few knew of the rust he carried in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Hawke is a legend, Carver is crying and Bethany I made biscuits!!
> 
> I got into this headcanon after using so much the ability "Devour" during combats, while being a Warrior. Now I'm firmly convinced that Hawke uses his blood magic without thinking or realizing. It just kicks in when he's in extreme danger. He still doesn't consider himself as a mage and doesn't' introduce himself as such. 
> 
> Fenris +1000 rivalry


End file.
